A dozen roses. A diamond ring. These are two of the standard consumer demands put upon our loving spouses each Feb. 14.
Despite my opposition to join the masses, I do insist on a card each year. One bought preferably not at a loonie store, one whose words are sentimental, one that does not come in my email inbox. It has to be real card. On paper.
This year I thought I'd trace my fondness for St. Valentine's Day cards to the BH (Before Husband) period.
There was no greater thrill than dumping my soggy gum boots into my cloakroom cubby and running to my desk to find that construction paper heart overflowing with little Valentine's cards. The brightly-coloured construction paper envelopes made by each student were decorated with squares of tissue paper, twisted on the eraser top of an HB pencil and slapped into random designs with globs of white glue.
The teacher would instruct us to wait until the entire class was out of their February clothes and seated, noses warming at the sound of the basement furnace room pitching and kicking into gear. My heart would be bursting through my undershirt and itchy wool sweater my mother insisted I wear in the winter, my neck straining to get that tight collar away from my sensitive pink skin. I could not pull the Scotch tape from the side of my desk fast enough, eager to distinguish who my best girl friends were and which boys were willing to confess their secret crush.
No matter how hard my small hand pushed to the bottom of the centrefold, I never surfaced with a Scooby-Doo valentine from David Cassidy.
Glen Something was next in line on my love radar. Despite his fondness for eating paste, he did in fact take the time to acknowledge girls as something other than skirts to flick up with his floor hockey stick.
Now when I think of Valentine's Day I get a kick out of my memories. They were sweet and easy. Thoughtfulness was not reduced to carat size or thorn count.
This year we discover that corny love that for the majority of young families is priority zero. Romance has a reasonable shelf life but it won't keep it forever in that Ziploc freezer bag. Most of us put it away with the good china for a rainy day.
Take a look outside. I will bet that that guy who tops up the anti-freeze in your car and lugs 100 pounds of garbage to the curb each week likes you a lot more than you give him credit for. So he won't let you use his tools. Let it go. Tools have some whole other plain of logic. Best not try to figure it out.
Look to the great couples of history for inspiration. Brad and Jen don't count. Seriously, celebrity couples aren't always the best source of long-lasting love but some have more longevity than others.
In May of this year, the infamous bed-in hosted by John Lennon and Yoko Ono will mark an anniversary of 36 years.
Under the crumpled cotton sheets at the plush Fairmont Queen Elizabeth Hotel in Montreal, John and Yoko demanded the world give peace a chance.
With unrelenting optimism the ultimate love couple got under the covers and stayed put for seven days.
The Walrus and his banshee-voiced bride were merely trying to employ the greatest weapon of all. Love. It's the square root of parenthood. Or maybe your square root was a six-pack of Molson, which is doubly sad now that our Great White Barley Baron is owned by an American brewery. Ick.
Most mummies cannot stay in bed for seven days with their spouse and an acoustic guitar. Who would do the laundry?
Spin an old classic - dinner and a movie. Enter grandparents. They would love the opportunity to look after your true little valentines without you breathing down their necks.
Put on some perfume. A pair of heels. Dare I saynylons? Look to John and Yoko for a little love inspiration. Forbid the following words: diapers, Anbesol or college fund.
Put a tin of Altoids in your purse (for that good-night smooch) and off you go. You'll have fun. Really.
